


Silhouettes of Sentiment

by sElkieNight60



Series: All Things As They Are [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne Tries to be a Better Parent, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce wayne loves his kids, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Light Angst, The Journey of Bruce Wayne Becoming a Good Parent, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake is a sad boy, Tim Drake-centric, he'll get there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sElkieNight60/pseuds/sElkieNight60
Summary: Tim invites Bruce to the museum expecting him not to show.Conversations are had and Bruce starts to learn that all things are not okay with his son.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Series: All Things As They Are [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893031
Comments: 35
Kudos: 644
Collections: Tim Drake and Red Robin Stories





	Silhouettes of Sentiment

**Author's Note:**

> Gratuitous. Unnecessary and gratuitous, but I had fun writing it.
> 
> (I finally managed to write a short Tim fic, yay!)

On a whim, Tim had invited Bruce to the unveiling of the new fossil exhibit in the museum, fulling expecting the man to dismiss it. They were growing more frequent these days, the rejections and disregards from his adoptive father. Or perhaps growing was the wrong word. _Grown_ would be more appropriate. Since the incident with the time-stream and all that had been involved―some of which Bruce was aware of, most of which he was not―the part-time vigilante and father of five had been easing himself back into the family business. The exhaustion and malnutrition had taken months to get a handle on.

Jason was around more, these days. Tim didn't know what had happened between him and Bruce recently, but he was glad for it. And quite frankly, with Damian now more heavily involved in Bruce's life and with Dick pushing them towards each other, there was little room left for Tim in between. Not that there had been much room for him prior to Bruce's return, but around the family now, Tim tended to feel like an over-sized peg stuffed in a very square hole; he just didn't fit.

With his world spinning wildly out of control, the unhelpful thoughts became harder to ignore. With Damian now wearing the symbol that had never truly belonged to Tim, but had always given him hope, and with all that had happened between Tim and his family and friends― _Dick, Stephanie, Cassie, Jason, Damian_ _―_ he had been forced to confront some truths he'd probably been ignoring all along.

Tim wasn't wanted, he never had been. Not as Robin and not as Bruce's son, certainly. As Robin, Batman had always held him at arms length, nowhere near as involved in Tim's training as he had been with all his other Robin's. As Bruce Wayne's adopted son, well that was something that had not happened until necessity had made it so. Sometimes Tim wondered how things would be different if his father had lived and not departed this life to leave him an orphan. Would Bruce be anything more than a stranger by now?

Avoiding family had become somewhat of a habit. Sure, he still sent out the necessary invitations to make it _look_ like he was trying, but everyone was trying to settle into a new rhythm, a new normal. And Tim knew that whatever the family ended up settling into, he wouldn't really be a part of it.

After all that had happened during Bruce's disappearance―after the fights and the lies and the betrayals, after the threats and then the emotional tantrums and wounds not rightly patched up, Tim didn't expect to be welcomed back to the Manor. Dick had made it pretty clear he was done with him, and Damian clearly counted that as a win. Jason never abided him in the first place and Cass was as flighty as a feather; she hardly knew nor cared about whatever antics were happening between her brothers. The support system that Tim had built up over years crumbled apart within just a few months.

Tim was back in Gotham now, but only physically. Only for show. It would look suspicious if he just disappeared. People might start investigating and Bruce really didn't need that right now, not on top of everything else. So Tim stayed. Entirely out of the length of loyalty that looped around his neck like a noose.

Keeping away from the family was proving easier and easier with each passing day. And with each passing day, Bruce found surer footing and better equilibrium with each of his children. The children that were _wanted_ and _real;_ so unlike Tim in every way, who had sat collecting dust in a corner for years, unwanted, before he became Robin and now was being forced back into a box under the bed. Although _forced_ was perhaps too strong of a word for someone who was going as easily as he; _he was not raging against the dying of the light, but simply departing gently into the good night._ It was, perhaps, best for everyone.

So it was a surprise, to say the least, when the familiar click-clack of expensive office shoes came to a halt beside him as Tim sat in the museum cafe and waited with a coffee in hand for the exhibit to open.

The scrape of the chair legs on the tiled floor grated on his ears, but it prompted Tim to turn his gaze leftward anyway.

The sight of Bruce, now mostly recovered from his jaunty expedition through time, was one that sent a thrill down Tim's spine; not unalike that of when he had been a child, coming home from school to see his parents suitcases in the hallway. The man sat unstrained, face open and almost relaxed, by his standards. A pleasant smile lifted the corners of his mouth as Tim's striking eyes connected with his own deep blue gaze. The sounds of the museum washed over Tim as his hand clenched just a fraction tighter around his disposable mug.

“What time does the exhibition open?” Bruce asked, agreeable smile never wavering as he skipped over the pleasantries and adjusted his overcoat, unremoved from his person. “And do I have time for a coffee before the unveiling?”

Struck dumb by the mere fact that Bruce Wayne― _adopted father and one who had barely spared two glances in Tim's direction since returning from the time-stream_ _―_ was really sitting in front of him presently, asking about museum time openings and coffee, it was all Tim could do to simply nod shakily.

Answer received, the man pulled out his wallet. Halfway already out of his seat, Bruce paused a moment and turned back to Tim as though just remembering something. “Do you want another as well?”

Feeling suddenly prompted to remember the beverage in his hand, Tim peered down into the compostable cup― _three quarters empty_ ―and nodded for a second time, remembering his voice only after Bruce was halfway to the counter. The liquid inside was cold anyhow. Tim had been drinking cold coffee, but it wasn't something he truly worried about anymore. Not many people had cared about his rather unhealthy and disgusting coffee habits before, even fewer asked after them now.

The wait for a new, much warmer caffeine fix was not long.

“Thanks,” Tim said lamely, as Bruce placed the cup lightly down in front of him before taking up his own seat once more, coffee of his own in hand. He reached for it and dragged it closer, the warmth seeping out to heat his perpetually frozen fingers. Above them hung three-dimensional replicas of extinct sea creatures.

Bruce took a sip from his cup and eyed Tim over the rim in a manner that probably wasn't intended to feel critical, but did nonetheless.

_Why was Bruce here?_

Hands still firmly clasped around his drink, he used it as an object of grounding, keeping him firmly planted.

“I didn't think you would actually come,” he said, maintaining rigid eye-contact with the swirling black liquid between his palms, realising after the fact that he probably came across as ungrateful or something. Quickly, he backtracked, sparing only the briefest glance up at Bruce. Behind the rim of his cup, the man was unreadable. “Not… That didn't come out right. I'm glad you're here.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

“You invited me,” Bruce pointed out, then.

_He had, but…_

Tim shrugged. “You have more important things.”

Bruce looked. Puzzled. Perplexed? _No._ Tim couldn't quite place the expression. Shocked, certainly, though that was hidden behind a mask. Hurt, perhaps? Somewhere in there…

“I am a busy man,” he agreed with an affable nod, shaking off whatever expression he had landed on by choice or accident. “Even moreso now than I was, uh, _before_. You know.”

Tim's face twitched lightly. He did know.

“However,” he continued. “I'm not one to turn down an invitation from my son.”

This time, it was _his_ turn to be hit with a wave of something unforeseen. The use of the word _son_ startled Tim―the emotion absolutely registered upon his face. Quickly, it soured into something else.

“You don't have to call me that, you know,” he replied quietly, almost under his breath. It was so soft Tim almost didn't expect him to hear it.

Bruce's puzzled expression returned, this time with more force.

“It's just us. The press had a private showing of the exhibition several days ago―for reasons pertaining to advertising, I'm assuming―so I'm certain there are none here.” Tim's fingernails dug into the cup. Upon releasing, the cardboard was left with crescent shaped indents.

“Pardon?” he asked, genuinely confused.

It amused Tim that out of all the words Alfred could have pressed into Bruce like an etching to paper, _'Pardon'_ and _'Chum'_ were apparently the ones that stuck.

Lightly, Tim waved him off. “It's alright. It doesn't matter.” Then, onto a subject he knew Bruce could potentially talk about for ages: “How is Damian at the moment anyway?”

Like a bullet, Bruce was out of the barrel. It was easy to ask the right questions and find the right timing. Bruce wasn't… he wasn't _chatty_ by any stretch of the imagination, but Tim knew just what buttons to press. It was a skill he had learned and honed as Robin. Something to use when the man's line of questioning into Tim's parents and schooling and life in general started to become too invasive. It wasn't something Dick or Jason had needed to do. It probably wasn't something Cass _bothered_ do, and it wasn't something Damian cared to do.

It was easy to get Bruce to prattle on about Damian and then in turn each of his other children. Eventually, by the time he was running out of new facts to relay about Jason, the fossil exhibit unveiling was mere minutes away.

Tim stood and scraped his chair back and Bruce did the same, following suit as Tim checked his watch just for show and tossed his now empty cup of coffee into the green waste recycling while redundantly announcing that the exhibit should be opening soon.

The man jerked forward abruptly, hastily making after Tim and then straightening his overcoat as he pulled himself up to full height, walking beside with an easy, albeit steady gait. Bruce dwarfed Tim by comparison.

They arrived at the exhibit entrance just as the girl opened the roped off area to a group of people not large enough to be considered a crowd. There was a man who looked academically inclined and a young mother clearly looking for a quiet place to sit. Then there was an older gentleman, perhaps around Alfred's age, accompanied by his wife who did not appear much younger.

Bruce led the way and Tim felt himself shrink a little behind as the other man strode forward, all purpose and pride, safe in his standing with people in a way that Tim wasn't sure he ever would be.

The exhibit, once they stepped inside, was dark, with light illuminating only the ancient fossils upon the walls or secured to large tables in the center of the room. Tim studied them more absently than he would have if he hadn't been beside Bruce, the older man looking at a trilobite intently. Tim felt keenly aware of his presence.

As much as he loved having Bruce there, it was inexplicable and puzzling in more than one way. What was Bruce doing here with him? There had to be a reason. Tim intended to find out.

“So,” he began lightly, turning his attention to what appeared to be the impression of a group of worms on a mold fossil. “What made you choose to come with me to _this_ exhibit? A new found interest in fossils?”

Tim very deliberately avoided eye-contact, even when Bruce turned and attempted to catch his gaze. He moved on to the next series of fossils without success.

The long pause just _begged_ to be filled and Tim felt nervousness thrum through his veins as he awaited an answer he wasn't even sure he wanted to hear.

“Please, the truth, this time,” he chuckled, trying hard to keep that same awkward energy out of his tone. “You have passed many a more important thing than an invitation to the museum from me. What makes this time so special?”

To his right, Bruce seemed to deflate a little. A-ha. Tim was right. He felt vindicated. There was something more going on here. Bruce didn't toss around the: “You're my son,” card unless someone was listening. Tim was his son on paper only. Objectively, he understood that. Emotionally? He tried not to let it in, or let it _hurt._

The silence seemed to drag on forever, until―Bruce released a tightly held breath.

To be honest,” he began, coming to a complete stop and forcing Tim to stop alongside him or else walk straight into him. “I'm… worried about you, Tim.”

A double-take was needed to confirm that it had been in fact _Bruce_ who had spoken. Tim wasn't given a chance to make up an excuse as to why he needn't be.

“You have been distantly lately, and you keep rejecting my calls.”

Turning his attention to another fossil, if only just to have something to look at that wasn't Bruce's face, Tim huffed out half a sigh.

“It is… not on purpose,” he lied.

Although he didn't look to check, he wondered if Bruce's face softened along with his voice.

“Yes it is,” he returned, gently, seeing straight through the flimsy answer. “I've not been called the World's Greatest Detective for nothing, you know.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and held his fingers there in an attempt to forestall the headache building behind the lids of his eyes. “It won't affect my work.” He had no doubt Bruce knew exactly which _'work'_ he was referring to.

Bruce's large palm came down onto his shoulder to give it a kind squeeze. “I'm not worried about that,” he said. “I'm concerned for _you_.”

“Don't be,” Tim returned as he finally looked up and gave the man a weak smile. It didn't seem to allay his fears so much as compound them. The frown on his brow deepened. “You know I've always been able to handle myself.”

The man simply blinked at him once and then sucked in a wobbly breath. “What is going on, Tim?”

Shaking off the palm still hanging onto his shoulder, Tim pressed past him and continued on into the exhibit. “Nothing,” he answered. “It is fine. I am fine.”

Bruce made a noise that wasn't unlike a sound he had heard Damian make. “If you were truly fine, you wouldn't be avoiding this conversation― _or me.”_

Eyebrow raising, he stopped by the fossilized bones of several small sea creatures and pinned the other man with a look. “I'm giving you _space,_ Bruce. You've a lot of things to sort out. Not in the least with Dick and rest of the family. They missed you.”

The expression that came over the older man's face was one of both sincere shock and deep hurt, but it was all swept away by the challenging look Bruce quickly pinned him with. “Are you not grouping yourself in that?”

Tim could read between the lines. “Of course I missed you too.”

Bruce still looked unsatisfied by the answer, but it was clear he was unsure as to why he was unhappy with it.

“Tim,” he said, looking lost, hands hanging limply by his side. “What happened while I was gone? You've… changed.”

He thought on that a moment, surprised by the statement. Perhaps it was true. Maybe it was _him_ who had changed and not everyone else. Though Tim didn't know _how_ he had changed so he didn't know where to begin to fix it.

For now, he offered Bruce another weak smile. “A lot,” he replied. “A lot happened. Too much to recount now.”

“Pick something,” he returned. “One thing. Tell me about that.”

The trouble was, Tim really didn't know where to begin and everything was depressing or distressing, and he didn't want to hurt Bruce. Eventually he settled on re-telling the tale of his voyage around the globe, piecing together evidence that Bruce was still alive while avoiding several attempts made on his life. The man nodded along and listened intently while they made their way around the entire fossil exhibit.

“It sounds as though you've barely touched the tip of the ice-berg,” he chuckled as they stepped out of the fossil room and back into the light of the wider museum. They both squinted and blinked against the bright afternoon sun, streaming in through the huge windows by the gift shop and exit.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed lamely, a lack of nothing better to say or add as he stared at the polished tiles of the floor. “I suppose.”

Bruce wrapped an entire arm around Tim's shoulders and tugged him in close, the action surprising him into looking up. “Good,” he said. “Then you won't mind telling me more when you come over for dinner at the Manor on Sunday.”

Tim felt his face tighten. “I don't think that's a good idea, Bruce.” Damian would be there and he… “This has been nice, really, but I'm not exactly… _wanted_ around the Manor at the moment.”

Bruce looked confused. He'd looked confused a lot today. “What do you mean?” he said. “Of course you are, I invited you.”

“Dick will―”

“Dick will _love_ to see you there, he's missed you recently as well. In fact just the other night he was telling me that he had been meaning to call you for some time.”

Tim didn't exactly believe that. It sounded like a flimsy excuse, even relayed through Bruce, who apparently believed it.

Releasing a heavy sigh, he expelled all the air inside his lungs and wet the dry roof of his mouth. “Fine,” he finally acquiesced. “I'll be there.”

“Excellent!” Bruce practically chirped, giving his shoulder one last squeeze before letting go. “I'll be sure to let Alfred know.”

With that, Bruce gave a satisfied nod and bid Tim farewell, blowing out of the museum just as quickly as the wind he'd floated in on.

But suddenly, Tim couldn't bare the thought of Bruce just _leaving._ Everyone always just left and―“Bruce!” he called, catching the man just before he pushed on the exit, hurrying over in clacky dress-shoes of his own, the sound reverberating off the glass walls.

Bruce waited for him to catch up. With anticipatory eyes boring down on him, Tim felt strangely nauseous at the nervous expectation.

“I just wanted to say _thanks_ , for coming today and all,” he began shyly. “You… you didn't have to and I know fossils aren't exactly your thing, but. But it meant a lot. To me, I mean.”

Tim was entirely caught off-guard by the look of hurt that flashed across his face, so brief that had Tim blinked, he would have missed it. It immediately settled into something fond, but with that same touch of concern that Tim hadn't been able to shake all day.

“Of course, kiddo,” Bruce returned with a nod, reaching out a hand to ruffle Tim's hair. Tim didn't bother to fix it. “I'll see you at the Manor on Sunday, hm?”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure, B. I'll be there. I promise.”

The concern never wavered, but it softened a little. Before Tim could react, Bruce was swooping down and pecking a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Alright. Stay safe, Tim. I love you.”

Tim nodded in reply, but by then Bruce was gone. And there were too many emotions fighting for dominance in his chest. He decided to tuck them all away for later, when he would be able to take them out again and examine each one in detail. The feeling of warmth in his chest never subsided. It remained close to the surface, burning brightly like a candle flame in a cold night. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but he didn't dislike it.

“Bye Bruce,” he whispered to a man departed. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos if you liked this work! Also, if you want to make a new friend, come chat with me at [Tumblr](https://selkienight60.tumblr.com/).


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